


Spiral

by Citlali



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Depression
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-13
Updated: 2015-12-13
Packaged: 2018-05-06 10:15:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5413022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Citlali/pseuds/Citlali
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Foggy never fully recovers from the total breakdown we see him have after S1.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spiral

**Author's Note:**

> Daredevilkinkmeme Prompt:  
> http://daredevilkink.dreamwidth.org/6237.html?thread=11859037#cmt11859037

Mrs. Cardenas died because of Foggy’s over confidence. He’d encouraged her to keep fighting.

_"We’ve got to keep going Matt; we’ve got to nail that bastard to the wall, for Elena, for everything."_

The night Matt almost died. Foggy wanted to make Fisk pay.  

And they did it. They made Fisk pay. Fisk was in jail where he belonged. It took a lot of hard, but, they did it together, and they did it using the law. 

So why didn’t Foggy feel any better? Why did he feel so tired? They won. He should be happy. Matt was doing better, he was still fighting crime in his goofy costume, but he didn’t come to work covered in bruises anymore. Karen had gone through a rough patch and maybe she didn’t smile quite as bright as she once had, but even she seemed to be doing better.  

Why wasn’t he? 

Why didn’t anything make sense? He could barely drag himself out of bed and get dressed every morning. He looked at the day ahead with dread. Work was, at least, something he was good at, it was something he could focus on and do. He took on as much as he was able, made it seem like he wasn’t all that busy. He stayed late, leaving after dark, and as he walked home, he wondered if Matt was somewhere nearby.  

He hoped Matt was safe. 

He sat in his quiet apartment and opened another bottle of whatever was cheap at the corner store. He drank the first glass quick, like medicine, and then nursed the rest through the evening until it was enough to help him fall asleep. It felt good. His head felt light. Things weren’t bleak.

Why was he crying? 

It wasn’t getting better. Just to make it stop, he drank more. Just to make it stop. And he wished it would stop. He didn’t want to keep going like this. He missed the way he used to be. He used to come home and do stuff. He'd go out with Matt and Karen to Josie’s Bar, or just go out on his own. He used to want to do things. 

He was tired. 

He missed being able to feel something other than nothing. He wished he remembered how to smile and not fake it. He knew he shouldn’t be feeling this way. It wasn’t normal to need to drink so much just to fall asleep. But, if anyone should be having a difficult time, it was Matt and Karen. Matt went out and risked his life on a daily basis. Karen lived through getting framed for murder and almost being killed twice. They were both so much stronger than he was. They were fighters. They could get through anything. What use was Foggy? They cared. But. 

Matt and Karen made a good team. Matt and Karen. 

They didn’t need him. He didn’t want to bother them with his non-problem.

Every evening the burden of existing grew heavier. There were painkillers in his medicine cabinet. The rest of the prescription from when he’d gotten the shard of glass in his side. He’d been saving them, just in case. He hadn’t liked how disconnected they made him feel. But now. He wasn’t sure why he hadn’t thought of them before. He could try. Maybe it would help. 

He took one and washed it down with a sip of whiskey. He knew it would take about half an hour to start feeling the effects. He finished his glass and poured another. He felt it in his head first, that weightlessness. Swimming. Floating. Sinking. He lied back on the couch and felt his fingers relax. Heard the glass thunk on the floor, he forgot he’d still been holding it, his fingers felt numb. 

It felt. It felt like he wasn’t being crushed. It felt like he was disappearing. It felt good. 

He could. He could make it last longer with another pill. The pill container was on the coffee table. He didn’t have anything left to wash it down, but that didn’t matter. He wanted to have another before the first one could wear off. His fingers felt clumsy, and the pills tumbled out, on the table and the floor. He could clean it up later. He positioned the pill on the back of his tongue and swallowed. 

It would take half an hour to start to feel it. He was still feeling good from the first one. He could get through the night like this.

...

Foggy distantly heard his alarm clock ringing in his bedroom. He felt tired. The ringing didn’t bother him. It was distant. He could let it. But he knew it would upset his neighbors.  He wasn’t that much of a dick. He had just rolled off his couch and onto his knees when the alarm stopped. 

That wasn’t right. He heard something drop. Footsteps. No. How long had it been ringing for? He looked up at his bedroom door and squinted at the person standing there. "Matt?" 

There was Matt. Wearing Foggy’s sweatpants and an old metal band t-shirt, looking, not well. Foggy coughed and pushed himself up the rest of the way to his feet. "Are you okay? Did something happen?" 

Matt looked shattered. "You don’t get to ask me that. Not this morning." 

"Is Karen, okay?" Foggy asked. Matt’s eyebrows scrunched up, and Foggy’s chest felt tight. He pushed himself to his feet, swaying. “Something happened to Karen?” he asked again.

Matt walked across the room, grasping Foggy’s arm and pushing him back down onto the couch. "She’s fine. I'm all right." He took a deep breath. "Foggy, how are you?"

Foggy looked around. Oh. He hadn’t done much in the way of cleaning lately.  His apartment wasn’t a biological hazard or anything like that; he still took out the trash and everything. But the bottles were lined up along the wall. There were a lot of them. Along the wall; beside the couch; on the kitchen counter. He’d been saving them up for bottle returns. 

Matt reached forward to the coffee table and picked up the pill bottle; the pills were back inside. Matt shook it accusingly. "Painkillers. From when you were hurt in the explosions, right? How many did you take?" 

"Two." 

"How much did you drink?" 

Foggy looked down at the bottle beside the couch. He wasn’t sure. More than two glasses. Three? More than that? He didn’t keep track. 

"I couldn’t wake you up." Matt continued. 

"What are you doing here?"

Matt stood up and paced, "I thought... I thought maybe we could talk. I know you’ve been, struggling. But I didn’t imagine it was this bad. I knew you’d been drinking; I can smell it on you, all the time. But, I didn’t know. Foggy. I didn’t know," he turned back to him. "Why didn’t you tell me it was this bad?"

Foggy frowned. "I’m fine."  

"You're not."  Matt walked back to the couch and knelt beside him. "I had to stay and make sure you wouldn’t stop breathing,"  Matt said again. "You aren’t fine." 

"It’s no big deal. I'm sorry," Foggy leaned back.

"It is a big deal to me. You are. To me. Why didn't you tell me?" 

"I didn’t want to bother you; you’ve got bigger things going on." Foggy knew he was getting way more scrutiny right now than eyesight could ever match. 

"I don’t," Matt said. "I don't want to lose you, Foggy."

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are love. <3


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